I am not the Beast
by cheddarbiscuit
Summary: The trials and triumphs of captivity.  eventual VolechekXHou Ju.
1. Chapter 1

cheddarbiscuit presents

I am Not the Beast

Disclaimer: If I owned Golden Sun, this would be cannon. Seeing as I do not, this is all fannon. And that's really a shame. I'm such a sucker for interspecies romance.

Summary:_ The trials and triumphs of captivity. VOLECHEKXHOUJU _

Yes. Yes writting the pairing in all caps _was_ nessicary, because I have yet to see Volechek and Hou Ju on this, or any other, site. Suggested? Yes. Talked about? Yes. DONE? No.

And it needs to be done. That's why I'm doing it. And I'm doing it now and I'm doing it unforgivingly.

So, we need a pairing name. I'm going for Monstershipping, because I'm pretty sure Stockholmshipping is taken. I can't think of anything else, aside from Cheddarshipping, which is just _vain_.

Leave any suggestions in your review!

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Chapter one:

He had not always been the finest warrior in all of Morgal. At one point, he had simply been the shame of his father, the scourge of the maids, and the eternal headache of his mother. He had been younger then. Impossible. Dealt with because he was a prince and only his father could punish him. His father who had no time.

Volechek swung the axe down, splitting the fire wood in half.

He had been less of a headache once Sveta was born. Now that he knew a little more about the world, he wondered what prompted his parents to have a second child, he was such a handful. Were he in his mother's shoes (or, his father's) he would have sworn off children all together. Then again, Sveta was probably unavoidable.

He rested his elbow on the axe's handle, and watched his little sister clean the kitchen floor. She was sweeping the dust outside, a little smile on her face, content with her simple life, because she knew no better.

He did not resent her. He would kill anyone who dared say such a thing. He would have crumbled to dust ages ago if not for her. Even when he was nine, there had been nothing to compare to the feeling of calm and reverence that over came him when his sister was placed in his arms. He would have remained a devil and a child for ever, if Sveta had not been there to teach him responsibility. He would have dissolved in a sea of self destruction if she had never come around.

It was Sana that he resented.

He raised the axe and swung it down on the fire wood. It lodge two inches in to the stump. He starred at it for a while, he had not known he had worked himself into a fit so easily. He heaved a sigh and looked towards Sveta. Her back was turned to him, so she had been unable to see his outburst. She worried everyone he showed the slightest hint of anger. She always had. Growlng a little, he jerked the axe out and replaced the log.

Sveta did not remember. He was glad about that. She had been five years old at the time, and she bad been fully awake, but for some reason, she had wiped her own memories of the terrible events that had transpired all thoes years ago. That, or she lied to him every time he asked her if she remembered. He would, from time to time, catch her starring towards Belinsk with the beginnings of tears in her eyes, and he would ask her what she remembered of their parents' murder.

She would smile faintly, sadly, and shrug. She would tell him she remembered swimming to Biblin, while he had an arrow in his shoulder, and she remembered a young girl showing up to help them. This was not much. Because of his injury, they had never reached their destination.

But he was glad she did not seem to recall the attack on Belinsk. It was terrible.

He massaged his left shoulder. There were still two knotted scars, one where the Sanan arrow had pierced his skin, the second where it had been pushed out by a kind stranger, the young stranger Sveta reportedly remembered. He could no clear memories, as his vision had been blocked by pain and his sense of smell obscured by agony. When he had come to, his chest had been bandaged, the arrow cut and removed [1.] Sveta was safely asleep up beside him, curled up under his coat. He had lain there for a long while, until the sun had set again and the will to live and continue surviving found him.

He swung the axe down again, the memories of wounds on his left shoulder revolted silently. He ignored their must cries, though. They had been complaining for ten years. He could do nothing for them. He was twenty-four now, childhood injuries should not stop him from working, even ones that had never healed properly.

He had carved out a living in Kolima Forest with thoes old scars. He had learned to survive on his own. He had cared for his sister as if there had been no one else in the world. And sometimes, if felt like they really were all alone in their own vast garden. It was, on most days, just the two of them. Rarely did a traveler wander so deep into Kolima Forest, but if they did, Sveta was almost always eager to accomodate them.

Perhaps too eager. They were always the shadiest of strangers, hunting for treasures and bounties. Volechek was always afraid that the bounty on his head was still being offered. He was always worried they would come for him. But sometimes he found himself wondering if Kuan had given up on trying to find the missing children of Morgal's dead king.

He stopped to massage the twin scars on his shoulder. They were more bothersome than normal today. Perhaps it was the humidity. Perhaps it was because this day was the same day Emporer Ko had managed the spectacular feat of raiding Belinsk Castle.

He wished thoes old scars would just let him forget the past, but it seemed as if they echoed the cries of all Morgal. The would not let him rest until he — Morgal's rightful king — had done something. Ten years.

He swung down again. The axe sunk six inches into the wood. He had been unaware that he had been so angry. He jerked it out agian and his shoulder shouted in anger and pain.

Sana had kept Morgal and her people under and iron fist. Ten years.

Again, he swung down, a thick, satisfying crack as the wood splintered and the stump was cut deeply again.

Sveta could take care of herself, now. Were he to leave her alone, to rise agianst Sana and get himself killed.

In truth, he knew he should. Not as the heir to the throne, but simply as a man. But ever time he tried to leave, he thought of Sveta. Of how she was too trusting and young to be left on her own. Of how someone would find her, perhaps someone who was already out to hurt her, perhaps not, and take advantage of her.

He swung down once more, unaware that there had been no wood to cut.

It could all be solved if he just_ explained_ what wandering, adventerous men tended to do to the young, unspervised, little sisters of honest workers away from their homes. But she was only fifteen. Far to young to know about such things.

And if he was killed, who would protect her then?

"Volechek?"

He turned. Sveta was frowning at the stump he had chopped wood on for years, like this was not the first time he had absent-mindedly hacked away at it. It wasn't. He laughed and said casually, "Sorry, little sister, I suppose I was lost in thought."

She turned her green eyes to him, and said timidly, "I'm not voilent when I think."

She was worried. She was worried and he knew it.

"I'm sorry." he let go of the axe at let it sit at its awkward angle in the stump.

"Is everything alright, Volechek?"

He examined a callous on his hand, "I was just thinking, Sveta. That is all."

"About Kuan." she said keenly, but with a gentle, refressing frankness.

"Yes."

There was no point in lying to her. She could sense his very thoughts if she wanted to. Sometimes, he suspected she did, just to see how often he lied to her. He had made a point of telling her the truth after she confronted him about his habit of not telling her what he was doing.

He could think better knowing she was not peering into his mind every few minutes, even if she was peering for his own good.

"How was town?"

"There were two beastmen there." she said softly, turning away, "Asking for you."

"Oh?"

"No one told them where we were, though."

"Then why do you look so nervous?"

"Because..." she mumbled, "They looked at me, and I got the feeling they knew I was your sister."

"What did they look like?"

"Wealthy. Like warriors. Not very friendly." she said, turning away, "Come inside and rest a bit."

But by the time he crossed the threshold into the kitchen, there was a knock on the door. Sveta cringed, her ears slanting downwards in worry as she looked towards him, then to the little sitting room.

"Distract them for a moment." he said, "Mind your manners. I am not fit to see company."

"Yes, Volechek."

She had wanted him to tell her to send them away. He was tempted to, but if their business was worth seeing to, nothing Sveta said would deter them. While she went to answer the door (they were knocking again) he went to the back of their cabin to the barrel of rain water they had collected for washing and cooking. He splashed some on his face and snatched a dry shirt from the clothesline, because the one he was currently wearing was not suitable for company.

"... I recognize you. Where is your brother?"

"Just on his way." Sveta said. She was wary. This was odd behavior for her. She was normally quite accomodating. Perhaps it was the innate instinct all Beastmen had acting up. Perhaps she always just stifled her intincts to be polite.

"Could you ca—"

"No need." he said quickly, "I am here."

At once, they walked past his sister and knelt before him. Sveta crossed her arms and glared at their huddled forms before giving him a little glare of her own. He nodded slightly to her. He understood. She knew the diffrence between peace and danger, after all. She may not always see what invited danger, but she was _certian_ it came carried on the backs of these two men.

Their polished armor probably did not help, neither did their regal, sickeningly formal action and the sword strapped to their belts. Volechek caught sight of two proud war horses, also covered in jeweled, polished armor. Sveta was looking at them, too, her hands on her hips.

"Your Majesty!"

"We've been searching for you!"

And that settled it. Sveta's head snapped back to them, still knealing on the ground, and crossed her arms, her eyes narrowed venemously and she demanded, "What do you want with him?"

"Surely you know, Princess? Did your brother never inform you?"

On the word princess she stalked around them, her shoulders barred, trying to appear menacing, "Oh, yes. A position of power." she hissed, "That _thing_ that took our parents from us. Let me guess, you want power to rob me of my brother as well?"

They got to their feet then, and the second one said, as if in disbeliefe, "Are you unaware of the opression that goes on outside this forest at the hands of the Sanans?"

Sveta stepped forward and put her hands on her hips, her green eyes flashing and her ears slanting backwards. Anger was such a rare expression for her. Of course, she was somewhat justified. Heir to the throne or not, he _was_ her brother, and she _was_ inclined to worry about his safety.

She opened her mouth to say some thing uncharacteristically nasty, and Volechek realized the sooner she was taken out of the conversation, the better, not for her reputation, but for everyone's safety. He had never actually _seen_ Sveta get violent (he did not ever know it was _possible!_) and he did not want to, "Sveta, go get some refreshment for our guests." She glared at _him_ now, possibly with even more anger and venom than she had the two generals, "Please?"

She turned on her heel, "I'll get you some tea..." and Volechek distinctly heard her mumble, "... bloodthirsty pigs." before slamming the door.

He managed to smile politely and pray silently that their guests had not heard her. Judging from the smiles on their faces, they had not heard a peep from her past 'tea.' That, or they were very considerate for her feelings. It was a move in their favor.

"I must recomend you find a way to apease my little advisor." he informed them jokingly, "I do not like seeing her upset."

She had heard the words 'little advisor' and she slammed a cupboard door.

"Do not let your sister control you, your majesty."

"In all honesty, gentlemen, I would rather my sister control me than anyone else! I rarely make a choice with out at least consulting her."

They passed each other a glance, like he was insane. He realised the might be because Sveta had chosen to reveal her claws at the wrong moment, normally she was quiet polite, "She's normally very sweet."

They ignored him, "If you were your father's son, you would not be able to sit idle while your people suffer."

Volechek raised a hand to his scar. Even with out stress, they had suddenly begun to hurt. Perhaps they were echoing the cries of Morgal. Perhaps it was only in his head. Perhaps they would stop, if only he would do something. "Well..."

"Your sister does not remember. Of course she is against justice. She was just a beastling, and has not harbored your anger, your majesty. Her voice means nothing here."

She was standing at the kitchen door, looking at their unwanted guests and snarling again. She was _not_ pleased to hear that they planned to take him away to galavant off to war. Hearing that her opinions meant nothing was not helping their case. They had not seen her, and so Volechek stepped towards her, knowing their eyes would follow him to where his little sister was standing, the essecence of anger. In an attempt to remedy the situation, he laid a hand on her shoulder and said bluntly, "Sveta's opinions are _completely_ valid. I cannot just abandon her."

She did not stop snarling. The kettle whisteled from the kitchen and with an exasperated growl, she turned around to get it. He half expected her to return and throw the boiling water on them (himself included), then kick them out in anger. He smirked a bit. That would certainly teach them to disregard her feelings.

"I cannot take her with me, either. A young girl traveling with a rebel army? No. I cannot alow it."

"She would be well cared for."

"She will be given the life she was born into again."

Sveta had come back now, the tea on a wooden tray in her hands with four cups made of common clay. "I _like_ this life." She said, "It is peaceful. No daily risk of assassination. No hordes of people declaring loyalty and watching your ever move. No _prized china_ to care for, no _best silver_ to polish." she said that as she administered the plain cups to the two generals, who looked almost insluted, "Send them _away_, my dear brother."

"Noble Lord Volechek—"

She cut in, half spite, half sugar, "My _sweet_, peaceful brother—"

"—A fierce warrior and natural leader by birth—"

Sveta held onto his arm, lacing her clawed fingers just above his elbow, she mocked his honey-sweet tone, "— Is hopelessly under the spell of love and loyalty to his dearest little sister."

"He would—"

"Never do something so brazenly foolish—"

"Stop it! Both of you!" Volechek found himself shouting, "I won't go with you if you insist on fighting my sister in a battle of sweet-talk. That is open mockery."

"Forgive us, sire, but your sister—"

"Is next in line and you will treat her as such."

"Well I abdicate and chose to remain here!" She let go of him and crossed her arms, sitting down and turning up her nose, "I'll pull the plough and do repairs and I'll only miss the conversation."

"Sveta!"

He pulled her to her feet and took her into the kitchen. She looked a little scared for a moment, like she though he was about to hit her, but he just said calmly, "Sveta, you're only acting this way because you're afraid—"

"I _know_ its what you want." Sveta said, her eyes flashing, her clawed hands on her hips, "I see it in your eyes, but you _can't_ do it."

"Sveta, you must agree I have an obligation to Morgal."

Her frown deeped. She did know, and she wished to high heaven that he did not. He turned away from her.

"Do not think I do not know." she hissed, "Do not think for a _minute_ that I don't know."

"Sveta..."

"What?" she demanded, "Now that your two _general_ friends are here you _also_ think what I have to say means nothing?"

"No." he steered her further away, they were in the back room, now, the windows were so big it was really more of a sun room, designed to stay cool in the summer. In a whisper he added, "Sveta, you are my little sister, and I love you—"

"But when I say, even in my sweetest voice, 'Volechek, rising up against Morgal will get you killed' you won't listen?"

He could not respond. He could say yes, and have the cold shoulder for a week. He could say no, and she would expect him to stay home. She tapped her clawed foot and looked at him, as if she could force an answer out with her eyes.

"Sveta, I hate to do this, but—"

"What?" she hissed, "You're king of Morgal so I _must_ obey you?"

"I am your brother, and you will do as I advise."

She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the kitchen with her, "Now see here, Volechek, standing out there are two capable warriors and leaders. They could, just as easily as _you_ could, raise and army against Sana. Why do they need you? They do not need the 'Rightful King of Morgal'" the last bit was said mockingly, "They need a figurehead. A scapegoat. They need someone to take the blame when everything fails. When the dust clears and the traitors are to be hanged, where do you think they will lay the blame. Tell me that, Volechek? Let them find some poor beggar, needy of fame and no stranger to hunger, and whom I will not miss too much, should he be imprisoned like a common criminal and killed."

"Sveta." he gave her a light shake and tried to sound firm. Normally, that worked. Not today.

"You have a poor judge of character!"

"Sveta!"

"You'd sooner marry a smooth-talking whore than someone who really loves you!"

"What brought _that_ on?"

"I—I don't know!" she said, stepping back and throwing up her arms. Then she turned and stormed out, rounding on their two visitors, "Get out of this house."

"Sveta!"

"Your majesty—"

"I am princess of Morgal, and you are in my living room, threatening to take away _my_ brother and telling him that my argument is invalid. On top of all that you _followed me here_ and you are _drinking our tea. _Get out. Get out or... or... VOLECHEK!"

"I think she wants you to leave."

"But sire—"

"You had better do what she says." Volechek took each one by the arm and steering them out, "We'll discuss this outside."

Sveta was not actually very happy with _that_, either. She growled in frustration, grabbed him by the back of the shirt and yanked him back inside, slamming the door on the tail of one of their guests. When he yelped in pain, she opened the door, gave him a sound kick and slammed it again. She glared at the wood for a while, and Volechek watched her stupidly. He knew that the two generals had not gone anywhere, but he was not about to say anything, because he could see quite clearly that _Sveta_ knew they had not moved, too.

He swallowed and extended a hand. This outbrust was unlike her. Horribly unlike her. She took a deep breath and exhaled, turning her green eyes to him, "War took my parents. Don't make it take my brother."

"Sveta. I don't understand, you are normally quite—"

"I _do_ remember." she said suddenly, "I _do. _I remember how I felt when Mother and Father were killed. How _dare_ they say I don't. But I remember seeing _Sanan_ soldiers dead, and what you _do not_ understand is that hurt me just as much. Lord Kuan has a son, he has a daughter. They are not as young as we were, but that will not make their pain any less, and you _know_ that."

He frowned. He did, but he did not want to believe it. No. Sanan's were not capable of feeling emotions and remorse. He told himself this a million times. They were slave drivers. they were merciless and cruel. There was not a drop of good blood in their country, in their people. Not even their _children_ were innocent. Even _they_ were told time and time again that Beastmen were barbarians.

Of course, he looked at Sveta's furious green eyes and he did not _really_ believe that.

_No!_ he told himself, _No, they are a wicked race. They killed your mother. They did _more_ than just kill you mother! And you can _never_ forget that. _

* * *

[1.] the proper way to remove almost any arrow is to cut off the feathered part of the shaft, and shove it through, due to the fact that some may have curved points or serrated edges. When in doubt, don't pull.

Little survival advice, there. If we ever find ourselves invaded by aliens with arrows and clubs.


	2. Chapter 2

I am not the Beast.

(Disclaimed.)

There is (or was) a Golden Sun cruise company. I vote we all go in cosplay.

* * *

Chapter two:

Sveta prowled through the camp like she owned the place. Well, technically, she did, sort of. She was his right hand, his second in command, his top advisor. He had bestowed these titles upon her and she had insisted, quite plainly, that the only thing she wanted to be called was 'little sister,' because if he ever forgot she was that and nothing more, and started looking upon her like any sort of ruler, she would be very cross.

He had laughed and patted her head and tried—not-so-stealthily—to slip a gold and crystal circlet over her ears. He had done it wrong, and it would up only over one ear, so when his hand came away it fell lop-sided over one eye.

She wore her circlet now. There was a topaz drop that fell right between her brows, and it sparked in the light, just like her green eyes. When she glared up at anyone (and she often found herself glaring up, she was quite short.) it intimidated even him. It was like she was born to wear a jewel on her forehead.

His forehead was unadorned. He was always training, anyway. It would simply be damaged. Gold was such a soft metal, after all. Everyone knew his face and knew to respect him in the first place, regardless of what he was wearing. Sveta, on the other hand, was the only female within sight of a small force of two hundred or so battle-ready and bored troops. She needed some warning sign to show she was under his protection and completely off limits that was subtle enough that she would not question it, and obvious enough that there was no way a soldier could misunderstand it. She was absolutely forbidden. No exceptions. She was going to leave this camp and move into the palace as innocent of the ways of men as she entered it.

Hence the circlet. It was not much, but it seemed to do the trick. Sveta only ever told them that the men were far nicer to her than she expected them to be. Volechek had frowned and had said nothing. 'Nice' was better than 'persistent badgering' even if they both had basically the same motives. Well, at least they were respectful to her _face_. He frowned as he watched Sveta walk past and every head she passed turned and looked blatantly. Strange how she never once turned around and caught the _entire camp_ looking at her.

You would think she was walking around in just her fur!

He got to his feet, stalked over to the largest group, and said flatly, "Break it up, boys, there is nothing to see there."

"Y-yes sir! Sorry sir!"

They all scurried away and pretended to train, but he noticed it was all half-hearted and lazy until Princess Sveta walked by, then they were the epitome of style and technique. Oh, and fawning.

_Don't you look lovely today, princess?_

_ Would you like me to give you a lesson in archery, princess?_

_ Would you like an escort for your walk, milady?_

Oh, face it. He would do the exact same thing if he was a foot soldier and his commander had dragged his little sister into this mess. He would not have to worry for too much longer, though. The generals had sent for lady's maids from Belinsk, and had promised to pay them handsomely, as compensation for having to spend time in an army camp. They would not have to see any violence, of course, because Sveta would remain in camp, and so would they, when the full moon and the battle came. If they were ambushed, they would be left at the best place to escape.

They might even be arriving today. Of course, they would probably be older women, capable of maintaining a stately image for themselves and for their charge even in the midst of a filthy camp. They would not be young enough to distract the men from his little sister, of course, but he would take what he could get, and he what he got was an escort for Sveta which _was not_ a man, he would take it.

And it was not like he could escort her.

She was hardly speaking to him.

He sighed heavily. She seemed to be talking to every other man in the camp _but_ him. He heard her laugh and looked over to her, to see about five soldiers standing around a horse, which Princess Sveta had climbed onto at their urging. One climbed up behind her, brandishing what looked like a short piece of hay as if it were some grand scepter or trophy, the other four begrudgingly climbed onto other horses and the party rode out to do the usual patrols around camp.

They disappeared from view, and Volechek considered following them, but suppose nothing happened? Sveta would not take it lightly. And nothing would happen, after all, they _knew_ what would happen to them if they tried anything funny. Or not funny. He would kill them. No questions.

"Sir!"

"Hm? Oh, yes?"

Volechek turned and had to squint in the light. It seemed that the two generals enjoyed standing where the light would bounce off their helmets and right into his eyes.

"Now that you are no longer distracted by your sister, perhaps we could discuss the plan?"

"You did not persuade those cavalrymen to abduct my sister, did you?"

No response except a subtle shift out of the sunlight.

Guilty as charged.

They had names, of course. General Temujin was the older of the two, and Genreal Nikolai was widely regarded as the kindest man in the outfit. Sure, he was a lousy, randy drunk and a terrible gambler, but he rarely drank and it never, ever dawned on him to cheat. Some even speculated that he lost on purpose, because he made so much more than the underlings and he felt sorry for them. They were probably correct. He always promptly paid the money he owed, never gambled himself into debt, and never lost too much to one person. He would always smile and say, 'Now, now, you've taken quite enough of my money, Lad, let someone else have a go.'

General Temujin?

No one really liked him.

And that was okay, because he was not too fond of anyone else, either.

He was not completely dislikeable. He _did_ have his redeeming qualities, after all. He would not order a suicide mission lightly. He was very prudent, and knew the worth of each man's life, in gold, in silver, in rations, and in the souls weighed against him within Sanan's ranks. He disliked common folk so much, he tended to shut himself up and block out the underlings' revelries when he could, only popping his head out of the tent to shout at them to pipe down.

It was completely obvious that he was the one that _really_ disliked Sveta, and Sveta really disliked General Temujin too. While General Nikolai treated her advice as wide-eyed idealism and was at best prone to letting her down easy, and at worst subtly patronizing, General Temujin would look at her coldly, as if she was not even worth telling to be silent. She would glare right back and keep talking. Theirs was a true clash of wills, an amazing display to watch.

"Well, if you insist."

There was a great thundering of hooves from the direction of Belinsk, and a blaring of horns announcing that someone was coming into camp. The three turned to look, Volechek curious, Temujin greatly angered, and Nikolai... Well, he never let anything get under his skin.

The Lady's Maids arrived then, or rather, lady's maid. There was only one, riding a white horse at the head of an escort of soldiers. She was a stately, maternal-looking beast woman with whisks of grey in her deep brown fur, and bright golden eyes that seemed to know everything. She stopped abruptly in front of him, and her eyes silently commanded to him to get to his feet and greet her like a man and a king. He scrambled up clumsily, "Good day, Madam."

"Good Evening." She looked down her nose at him, "Where is the Princess? Where is Sveta?"

Volechek found his mouth suddenly dry and his brain suddenly blank, "Well, she's..."

'_She's gallivanting with the soldiers, ma'am.'_ seemed like a very, very stupid thing to say, especially to a high-and-mighty woman like this. He looked around and heard the thundering of hooves and a girl's laughter before he saw it. He closed his eyes, felt the blood rise in his face, and laid his ears back to avoid the tyrade. There was something about this woman that frightened him, in a childish 'Oh Iris! Don't let her slap my wrist!' sort of way.

He heard his sister and the soldiers laughing and the girl commented, "Weren't those frolicking bear cubs just outside the forest the cutest?"

"Oh, yes, princess, the cutest!"

The laughter was quickly interrupted by the Lady's Maid's voice, which had changed from stony and maternal to sharp and frightening, "By Luna's Grace, girl!" the woman exclaimed, "Riding astride? With a man in the saddle? Who raised you, a savage?"

Volechek had never before considered the health _benefits_ of burying his head in the sand until that very moment, and oh what a good idea it seemed like! Sveta frowned and opened her mouth to speak, but her new governess spoke first, "Get off the horse now, child. I will instruct you how a proper lady is to ride a horse later. You look a terrible sight. I must get you cleaned up immediately."

"Who are—"

"Go on!" she exclaimed, "Off the horse! Now! You should all be ashamed of yourselves, coaxing an obviously clueless girl into your sinful shenanigans. Be off with you! Disperse! Lord Volechek?"

"Yes ma'am?"

"Where were _you_ when your sister was taken into the arms of this... this... _Man_?"

"I was... watching, Madam."

"You were _watching." _She said voidly. She dismounted gracefully, turned to Sveta, and said, "Where is your tent, dear?"

"J-just here, Ma'am." Sveta answered, she guided her around the horse to the tent she and Volechek shared. He considered walking away and leaving Sveta to get acquainted with her, because he knew what the next word out of the governess's mouth would be.

"Unacceptable."

"What?" Sveta asked, "I like it. It's cozy."

"Fortunately, I brought another tent. It is much bigger than this, much more suited to a lady."

"G-great?" Sveta replied feebly, "I'll help you set it up."

"No." she said, "No, no you are going to have a bath in the nearest river. Captain, escort us."

Suddenly, all of the infantry men wanted to be recognized as 'captain' and Volechek wondered if the woman would beat them off with a stick before Sveta said smoothly, "If you don't mind, ma'am, I know the way myself. I don't need a man."

"What an _admirable_ viewpoint, Princess, come, show me the way."

Sveta, for the first time in weeks, looked his way. Her green eyes seemed to plead for help for a moment, but she remembered quickly that she was supposed to be upset with him, and so she lead her maid out of camp, and Volechek stormed forward, threatened forty lashes to any man who so much as _looked_ in the direction she walked off in, and ordered them to unload the two wagons of seemingly useless junk she had brought with her. Begrudgingly, they did so, but some of them still looked wistfully after Princess Sveta.

"What a hellcat..." Volechek said absently, "What did she say her credentials were, again?"

"She claimed to be Sveta's original governess. She has chests full of your mother's belongings, your father's, too. Things we thought we had lost, you know."

"Sveta's origin—" A bolt of fear went through him. It could not be. There was no way she was still alive, but there had only ever been _one_ nursemaid. "You dug up that old nightmare?"

"Ah, yes!" General Nikolai laughed, "The brave woman that was not afraid to punish even the notorious little Volechek."

"She was scary!" Volechek insisted. There was a reason he dubbed her 'Miss Hellcat,' after all. She had straightened him out properly within a few months of Sveta's birth. He could still feel the twisting pain at the base of his left ear. He raised a hand to comfort it.

"She only ever tweaked your ear!" General Temujin informed him.

"She was _scary_!" he insisted again. He shivered involuntarily, "Come on, let's just get the tent set up and pray she gets lost."

"With the Princess, sir?" A few cavalrymen and almost all of the infantry men asked, appalled.

"No, no! Gods, no!" Sveta knows her way around those woods. If she's as big of a nightmare as I remember, she'll just leave her."

He wondered, briefly, if age had mellowed her out, before realizing that she was _well past_ the age of mellowing. He shuddered again and shouldered his share of the work setting up the tent. General Temujin thought it was demeaning, and Volechek could hear him grumbling as much, but he honestly did not mind a bit of hard labor every now and then, or perhaps even every day. That was his only misgiving about actually _succeeding_ in overthrowing Lord Kuan. What if he managed it?

He did not actually know anything about running a country. He could be a figurehead for a bit, learn as much as he could, do what he might to manage on his own. However, even as it stood now, he was much better at pitching a tent with the men than he was planning a strategy with the generals. Realizing he was just setting himself up to be manipulated, he said, "You two handle the strategy. I'll just do what you tell me."

Sveta would not approve. Oh well.

"Now really..." He grumbled, hands on his hips, "She needs a tent that's this big?"

"Well, sir, just look at what she brought _with_ her—"

Volechek looked over his shoulder at the horse-drawn carriages of sacks and luggage.

"—How is she going to fit in _here_ with all of _that?"_

_ "_Good point." Volechek laughed, "What is even in those?"

"Apparently, everything of your noble parents'... that survived the invasion, that is."

"Oh?" he looked back to the near-circular and wrinkled hexagon of canvass, "So, even this was theirs?"

"You don't recognize it, sir?"

Great care had been put into preserving it. The yellowed canvass must have been white at one point, but the dark purple was still dark. It had not seen the sun in ten years. Did he remember it?

"I—I might."

"Strange, I would have though you would. Your parents took you out into the woods often."

"Probably wanted me to get lost." They laughed, but then they saw he was not, so they fell silent. "Oh, go on. That was meant to be a joke. Let's just get this thing up. The real work it going to be unloading all of that luggage."

They got it up in a matter of minutes, after that, and just and he had predicted, unloading the luggage was a daunting and long task. None of them were particularly heavy, they were just filled with textiles, except for the smaller ones, which were filled with heavier things like jewelry and fine china and prized silver.

"How did she even get these things _out_?" Volechek asked no one while he and an infantry soldier carried the heaviest box yet off of the cart and to the ground.

"I don't know, but it is probably a riveting war story that I do not want to hear right now." He replied, "What is _in_ here?"

"We'll look later. I'm curious t—damn!"

It slipped out of his hands—or maybe their hands, it happened too quick to determine blame, and crashed to the ground with several dull and metallic crashes and clangs.

"That... That sounded like armor." Volechek observed, stepping down and rubbing his arm, "Glad it didn't hit anyone."

He righted the crate on his own and tried opening it. When that failed, he tested the lock. It was weak. Weak enough to break open with a hammer, if he was daring enough. And he was _always_ prepared to take a challenge to his strength. He picked up the nearest mallet they had used to drive in the stakes for Sveta's tent and slammed it down against the thin loop on the padlock. It snapped open after a few blows, and he opened the crate.

It_ was_ armor.

"Strange." He mused, "Wasn't dad wearing this when he went into battle? How did she get it back?"

"Maybe she stole it."

"Or perhaps he had two sets." Volechek remarked, taking the cloth binding off the chest plate, "It's in good condition."

He put the breastplate back in with the rest and called a third man over to help them carry it into the tent. He did not know _why_ they put it there. What would _Sveta_ do with a chest full of partially rusted armor? Polish it? She would kill him.

Now that everything was unloaded, the men had left to amuse themselves with other means, leaving Volechek standing alone in front of the chest or armor. He missed the feel of grass under his feet. This tent had a cloth floor. It really _was_ fit for royalty. Sveta would be intrigued at least, grateful.

But he knew Sveta did not _really_ care about the grass. Honestly, if it was not raining she did not even care about the tent. She was light enough to sleep in a tree if the whim took her, and it had, once or twice, when she was much younger, he would wake up and find her gone. He would rush out, in a panic, horrified that something had happened to her, but he would find her sleeping in a tree. She had picked out a favorite, too. A strong old apple tree, with a nice long branch that stretched out over a nice grassy clearing. It was like a bed and breakfast.

But free.

With a high probability of falling out, but she was a very heavy sleeper. She _had_ fallen out once, and she had never even noticed, he found her one day, sprawled across the grass, her night shirt was torn but she was fine.

What could he say? Beastmen were pretty durable.

He heard the tent door flinging open and he turned around, Sveta stood there, her hair still damp, her fur gleaming and silken, with Miss Hellcat standing in front of her.

Now that she was off her horse and he was twenty four, he had to suppress a fit of giggles. The woman he remembered seemed to be a towering, stocky, statuesque woman with a deep voice. She was still stocky, and she was still deep-voiced, but she was in her fifties now and she was much shorter than he remembered. Or, perhaps she had always been this tall, he had simply gotten taller. Yes, that was right. It was much more likely that a young boy grew into man than a giant became a midget.

Honestly, she wasn't really a _midget_. She was probably normal height for a woman of advanced age. She was taller than Sveta, at least. Of course, Sveta still had some growing to do, and both their parents had been fairly tall. Or... Or so he remembered.

"What are you doing in here?" she demanded.

"Oh, Um... Nothing, Madam. I'll just be leaving." He walked past them and caught his sister's eye, "Sveta."

She pointedly looked away, the little yellow crystal swinging and gleaming in the light. He sighed and wondered if she would _ever_ speak to him again, then the two disappeared inside the tent, and he heard softly, "You're quite a bit shorter than your mother, dear, but I'll see if I can't find something for you."

He could go to the general and discuss strategy, but that seemed to shrivel in importance than patching things up with his sister. He knew they would leave soon, leaving Sveta with a small force to defend her should things go awry, and he did not want to leave on bad terms. So, he waited, hands in his pockets, until the rustle of fabric and searching died down and he heard Madam Kajasta said, "Here, this one. Put it on... Now stand up here."

And he waited a little while after that, even, until he heard Sveta yelp once and her Lady's Maid command, "Hold still." before he barged in, unannounced.

Sveta now wore a simple purple gown that fell gracefully to the floor and hid her durable, clawed feet from view. It fell freely off her shoulders and left her arms uncovered. He frowned and wondered how it stayed up so well, then he saw that it was being pinned by Madam Katasja, who, thankfully, had a mouth _full_ of pins, so she could not chastise him for setting foot into a 'lady's sanctuary.' Her silvery hair hung freely down her back, except for the two braids that were tied together at the back of her head, forming a larger braid, wound with golden strings.

He knew she would have tricks up her sleeve. Sveta was a knockout.

Of course, he _knew_ his little sister was a knockout. That was the _problem_. Oh well.

"Does she not clean up nicely, Milord?" her maid's voice cut in. Volechek was disappointed to learn that she could speak clearly with pins in her mouth. She had finished tailoring the dress to Sveta's body and was not hitching up the skirt and tucking it under, pinning it in place so it would not drag on the grass when she walked. "She looks just like her mother now!"

"Yes Miss Hellcat, indeed she—"

There was a glint in her eyes.

"Don't kill me! I mean Madam Katasja!"

Sveta laughed. Her governess continued to work. Volechek noticed a white, hand woven ribbon on the floor beside her, and assumed she was not going to cut the dress, just alter it temporarily, and cover the hitched-up stitches with a border, to take it down later when Sveta _did_ grow. Presumably, the sides would be only temporarily altered, too.

He watched for a moment, until Sveta lost all patience and demanded, "What do you want, Volechek?"

"You're upset."

"How _very_ observant you are, my liege."

"Sveta, you know I don't like sass. Please refrain."

She sighed heavily, rolled her eyes, and suddenly yelped. She looked down at Madam Kajasta and frowned. The woman did not say a word. She just continued to pin the dress. She must have stabbed her with a pin. Volechek suspected it was deliberate, too.

"And regardless, you know perfectly well why I am upset and you know what you have to do to stop it. I do not want my brother to be a killer like the Sanans. I do not want him to die in battle. I will be left alone."

The little pain in Volechek's chest returned upon seeing the expression on her face. She already looked completely alone, so small and pale in the forests that surrounded her. He laid his hands on her shoulders, "Little sister, I must lead our men into battle, otherwise, what will history say of me? King Volechek remained, while countless more died in his place? That he allowed his city and his kinsmen to be abused and ravaged by foreigners?"

"That he remained because he cared for his sister more than what others thought of him."

"Oh, Sveta!" he laughed, "Let's look at it this way, should I die, you can take over and pursue a peaceful end to this war."

"You mock me!" she covered her face with her hands, "I am concerned for your safety, and _you mock me_!"

"Oh, please don't cry!" he exclaimed, "Damn it, I hate it when you cry!"

In truth, he did hate it when she cried, partly because it was always his fault. Rarely had anyone else ever managed to make Sveta break down into tears. It was almost always him, except for the two or three times it was _not_ him, in which case, he set out for revenge. And she cried because of that.

One would think he would build up a resistance to his little sister's tears. Fifteen years he had known her, and he was a grown man! But he could not resist Sveta's weeping. The way her brows furrowed and her lower lip trembled seemed to wear away at him more now, and made the possibility of his death seem very close, and very real.

"Now, Sveta..."

"Milord, I must advise that you leave us. You are clearly upsetting Princess Sveta."

"But—"

"Now."

"Yes ma'am."

And so he stalked out again, walked far away, and sat down on a tree stump to brood and sulk. Well, so much for leaving on good terms. At this rate, if he could leave on relatively civil terms, or terms that were not blatantly rocky. Anything. Hell, if she would just initiate some sort of conversation, he'd be okay with dying a horrible painful death.

Well, no, not really, but you get the picture. He was not doing this solely for her, he was doing it for all of Morgal. Of course, he was not about to call her selfish because she wanted him not to. If _she _wanted to fight alongside him, he would forbid it, because she was his little sister and it was not her responsibility and he loved her and _yes_ he was aware of the flaw in that logic.

He rested his chin on his hand and starred off into the distance. Sveta must have come out of her tent now, because there was a crowd outside, and everyone was pushing forward, probably to just catch a glimpse of her and shower her with complements. He should break it up. They should not bother her like that.

With a shrug and a sigh, he stood up and pushed his way through the crowd, and there was Sveta in her newly altered dress, cutting white cloth with a dagger. There was something different about her, and it was nearly impossible to put his finger on it, until he saw in the grass a single clump of silver hair.

"Sveta?" He asked, "Your... Your hair?"

She stopped what she was doing and looked at it, "Oh." She said as if it were nothing, "Well, she decided it needed to be cut, so Miss Kajasta clipped about three inches off."

"Oh?"

"But, you know, the _oddest_ thing happened."

"What?"

"One of the men saw me and he asked for a lock!" she laughed, shaking her head and letting the clean-cut ends dance in the light, "The word must have gotten out quickly, because soon all of them wanted one. They said it was good luck, fancy that!"

"You didn't believe them, did you?"

"No, but what on damage can they do with just a lock of hair?"

Then, she seemed to remember that she was not speaking to him, but at least she did not manage a scowl. Still grinning at the folly of men, she resumed cutting. She handed the newest cut piece to the next soldier, and he walked off, grinning, until he saw Volechek, then he crept off.

"And... What are you doing now?"

"Well, I ran out of hair so quickly, they asked if I might cut up my old chemise."

"And you're _doing it?"_

"Well I've got so many now, and besides, it all in good fun."

So, Sveta cut up her old, rough-linen chemise and cut that one up piece by piece, handing it out and joking that if everyone survived she would sew them back together and have a slightly smaller set of undergarments. Kajasta told her not to spread her favors so thinly or take then so lightly, but no one seemed to mind, especially not the soldiers, who tucked her cut cloth away, some in their pockets, some in their helmets, and some in little satchels made just for charms and trinkets and ladies' favors. One clever fellow took his strip of linen and wove it though the rings of his chain mail, and soon others followed suit.

And Volecheck could not help but feel just a tad jealous, because everyone seemed to have his sister's favor _but_ him.

* * *

Yeah, maybe we'll get some Hou Ju next chapter, and if not then, then she will show up the chapter after next. I promise.

Also, an interesting little tidbit that can only be found by re-visiting Kancho _before_ the Grave Eclipse: King Wo actually went with Chalis (and presumably Meisa) to Morgal to abduct Hou Ju and Ryo Kou. Now, we all know _Chalis_ shows up in Belinsk... BUT WE NEVER SEE KING WO AND MEISA AGAIN!


	3. Chapter 3

I am not the Beast.

(Disclaimed.)

Sorry about some of the some-what disturbing things Volechek may do at this or any later dates. We do all have to remember, he IS pretty cold-blooded. If it makes you feel any better, I didn't actually enjoy writing it.

* * *

Chapter three:

"Put on a dressing gown!"

"Or what?" Sveta asked, "You won't let him in if I don't?"

"No! Of course not! I've never heard such a ludicrous—Princess, what in the name of _Iris_ are you doing?"

Sveta laughed.

"P-put your chemise on this _instant!_"

Volechek could not help it. The heel of his hand connected with his forehead. He did not need to turn around know that every eye in the camp was now turned to the tent. Most of them probably hoped that Princess Sveta would come streaking out of it. General Temujin was probably appalled to even _hear_ that Sveta would rather sit around in the nude than speak with her own brother on the eve of battle.

Well, at least he had confirmed that she was _probably _still mad.

"What do you even want anyway?" Sveta asked though the fabric. She had stepped towards the door and the candles light made three (albeit angled) nude-Sveta shaped silhouette against the door. She was doing it just annoy him. He stepped back, the infantry men leaned forward. A rustle of hooves went through the calvary. Volechek sighed heavily.

"The sun is going down." he answered, "The men refuse to leave until you have seen them off."

Her shadow jiggled and she shifted her weight to one foot and put her hands on her hips, "Pfft."

"Now, Sveta."

And again, "Pfft. I'm a little girl! I should be in bed!"

"She'll be ready in ten minutes, my lord."

Then, the Sveta-shadows were attacked by Hellcat-shadows and Sveta shrieked, then laughed, as a chemise was forced over her head again, then a dress, and she shouted, "Oh, forget the throne, Volechek! Forget the _war_! Send _her!_ She'll slap Kuan's wrist to death!"

Volechek, despite himself, found that he was laughing along with his men.

"Ow! Ow! The clasp is pinching my fur! Ow!"

"Out you go."

Sveta was pushed out of the tent then, and she tripped over her own feet. Volecheck caught her, and hated to admit that it was the first brotherly thing he had done in the past few weeks. Of course, she had not given him many opportunities to be her brother. If there was one thing Sveta could do—well, that was the wrong phrase, there were _many_ things Sveta could do—it was hold a grudge. She pushed her way out of his arms, and did not topple back into Miss Kajasta. Her dress was another that had once belonged to their mother, she had a gold and pearl necklace on, too, and a golden bracelet. Her circlet was knocked askew.

He straightened it for her, and to his relief she did not bat his hand away. She smiled a little bit, then stopped just as abruptly. She turned away from him, gathered up her skirt, and gave the men a little feminine salute, which, as expected, they just adored.

She asked, "For Morgal, then?"

"No sir!" the infantryman laughed, "For our beloved Princess Sveta!"

There was an uproar from the troops, and a few whistles and much applauding, and soon the chorus of men's voices shouted, "For Princess Sveta!"

Sveta's face did not show any signs of embarrassment, but she shifted uncomfortably and waved lightly, and the men just adored it. Once again, Volechek was jealous. He could not really do anything about it because executing half the men on the eve of battle was just _stupid_. So he didn't. And he wouldn't. He just let it go on for a while, mounted his horse, and called his men to order. Sveta delicately climbed onto hers as well, side saddle, as Madame Kajasta had instructed her some time ago (whist delivering some lecture about how she is symbolically balancing the affairs of state and the affairs of the home... or _something_ of that nature.) and soon the small army had mobilized behind them. First the royal siblings, then the generals and then the lucky batch of fellows that would make a quick escape with Sveta if things went wrong, and then everyone else.

He looked up to the moon briefly and then at her. She looked straight ahead and said nothing. He was not afraid for himself. He was afraid of what Sveta would do if he was killed. Of course, when he felt like _this_ it seemed that the likelihood was nonexistent, but he still feared. Sort of. Just for her, though. Could she handle leading Morgal alone? Would she be gradually pushed back and forced to silently abdicate?

She would like that, of course. She would probably just take the initiative.

But she would still be all alone.

"Promise me something." Her voice cut into his thoughts.

He looked back and her and for the first time in a while she was looking at him honestly. She had only done it once or twice within the past few weeks, and she had always caught herself and looked away. She looked genuine about it now. She was seriously thinking about losing him on bad terms and she did not want that. She might even be about to cry, but she still carried herself well.

"Anything."

"Promise me you'll think twice before casually killing someone."

Before he could seriously consider it—it was an old habit—he said, "I promise."

"Cross your heart and hope to die."

"_Sveta."_

She turned away.

"Okay. Cross my heart."

Still without looking at him, she held up the little finger on her left hand. She was just toying with him now. But he returned the gesture and repeated, "Promise."

They returned their hands to the reigns and continued to ride at a march through the night. He could see the lights of Belinsk now, and he could see the Sanan ships in the Harbor. This was where Sveta stopped. She pulled her horse up short and diverted off the path with only five men to keep her company and watch the distant slaughter with her. He stopped for just a moment to wave good bye to her. Seemed to curse him, or perhaps herself, or maybe the world, because she turned her horse around, rode up to him, and threw her arms around him.

It was quite an awkward feat on a horse. Especially side-saddle.

He was confused for a moment, but eventually realized that he should be hugging her back, which he then realized that he was, his cheek resting against the top of her head.

She let him go, cleared her throat, and said, "If you must go, dear brother, please come back."

"Of course."

"I won't leave this spot with anyone but you."

He smiled, patted her head again, and she left still looking back. She hid in the shelter of the woods. He stared at her for a second or two, before calling the men to move out again, and heading down the slight slope to Morgal. The scars hurt again, but it was just a little from the excitement, maybe a little regret that he might have to leave Sveta there forever. He raised his hand to rub the pain away, but his father's armor was in the way.

The plan was simple, they would split up into groups. A small group of scouts lead by general Nikolai would go down to the water a head of the others, and attack from the north, when the signal was given, the rest of them, who were supposed to have spread out by this point, would come in and go through the city. It was simple enough, and hopefully by the time he reached the palace the drawbridge would be down. General Nikolai left now, and they settled in for the long wait. He looked back to where Sveta was hidden again and thought, mainly for his own benefit, that he loved her and he offered a silent prayer for her safety.

He could barely see the lantern that marked her position, and she must now be barely able to see him. Perched above the city, he could faintly see the rowboats moving along the shoreline, they were just little dots against the poorly-lit waves, and soon they were lost among the ships in the harbor. The horses shifted uncomfortably. Someone had a coughing fit. Someone was muttering a prayer. Then, barely visible, there were three flashes of light, as if they came from a mirror. There was no sound for the charge, no bellow of horns. They just started moving.

And, naturally, some poor, misguided soul shouted, "For Sveta!"

"Right." He mumbled under the noise of feet and hooves and armor, "For Sveta."

He charged forward, ahead of the surge, and entered the gate first.

Getting to the palace was easy. They night watchmen were not bleary, but there had been very few of them, and the _others_ were currently without armor half asleep. There were a few in the city, and a small number of bothersome archers on the castle battlements. Volechek had almost no skill with a bow, and so he let the other archers handle them. He focused on holding off any foot soldiers that came his way and getting towards the palace gate.

He stabbed one through the throat. They were all unguarded at the throat.

_Promise me you'll think twice before casually killing someone._

"Damn it, Sveta!" he hissed, pulling his bloodied sword out as he rode past. It was not casual, he reminded himself, as he felt the kiss of steel slicing through skin and cloth at his shoulder, they were all honestly trying to kill him. There was no point in risking the horse now that he was here. He slid off, sword in hand, and sent her on her way, entering the chaos as one of his own men. He twisted an arm and slit the man's throat.

_Promise me you'll think twice before..._

Some idiot had blundered outside without his and chest plate on, but his sword was still raised high. Volechek wasted no time taking the easy target between two ribs.

_Promise me..._

And another fell at his hand.

_ Promise me... _He waited there with a gathering crowd for the bridge to come down. It took a while, and before it came down, there was a sudden rush of shouting, candles lighting windows, and running. Then, the bridge thundered down.

"Some of you stay out here!" Volechek ordered, "Don't let any of them get away."

He crossed the bridge with a few others in tow, but the rest of them remained outside, obviously keen on walking the streets of their half-way liberated capital. Volechek did not bother ordering them not to break ranks. Let a few Sanans escape. What difference would it make? He just needed to get rid of the important ones and that would send a pretty clear message to the rest of the region. Morgal was its own power.

It was not difficult to find Lord Kuan. Thankfully, he was not cowering in a corner somewhere. He would have been impossible to kill if he were cowering. Still, each time Volechek landed a fatal or near-fatal blow he heard his promise to Sveta echoing in his head. He tried to block it out like he could all of the other noise around him, but it failed.

Kuan was in the main hall. It was dark except for a few torches and the moonlight from outside. He was fully dressed his armor, sword drawn, and flanked by a small force of soldiers. Volechek scanned their faces, and while he could not identify Ryu Kou, he did see a girl that must be Hou Ju, huddling behind them, holding a candle, with her hand cupped over the flame. He gradually lost awareness of her when the fight broke out, but out of the corner of his eye, he did see her, skirting along the walls, away from the violence, still guarding her candle, like a ghost. She was completely silent. She knew, regardless of what happened, she could not turn the tide of this battle. He had been familiar with that feeling himself, he—

"It is ill-advised to be absent minded, Lord Volecheck." A voice cut in mockingly. Instead of a sword, he was brought back to the brawl with a regular punch in the face, "Although, I will admit, it takes great skill to last so long when you are so obviously distracted."

He looked back to Kuan, who punched him again, stepped forward, and in his free hand, picked up his other sword. He did not seem anywhere near handing it back to him. Volecheck ducked down, and rammed into him. They were knocked into the wall, and Volechek felt a hot, blinding pain in his left shoulder. He grimaced in pain, but before the second sword could give him a more fatal wound, he raised his hands and scratched the target he thought was best.

Kuan let go of the sword in Volechek's shoulder and clapped a hand over his eyes when Volecheck swiped his hand away and jerked out the sword. From there, it was just a quick, decisive, deep slice across his neck. There was a high-pitched scream beside him that made him lay his ears and grimace. He looked up.

The girl, Hou Ju, was standing there, struck dumb. Everyone had stopped at the sound, even Volechek. It was the first sound she had made the entire battle. Now, she had gone quite again. Her face was round and golden in the candle light, her eyes were large with disbelief, and perhaps they were just naturally round and innocent. She sank to her knees beside her father's body, and the hand that had been protecting the candle's flame extended, shaking, to her father's hand.

There was a sudden clamor in the room around them, but neither one budged. It sounded like they were running away, or, maybe it was a few of his men running to share the news.

He did not know why he felt the need to state the obvious, "He's dead."

She looked down at her knees, and reflected on this news for a moment, then, she turned to him, set the candle down, and brushed her hair behind her shoulders. With one hand still holding her fathers, she raised the other to slip the collar of her robe down, just a little on the left side. She held her head high and closed her eyes, that free hand resting on her lap, like she was seated at a family gathering waiting to pour tea, not waiting for blood to spill.

She was giving him a clear shot.

He held it at her neck. She felt the tip just under her chin and she did not even _flinch_. He tried to think of the quickest, most painless way to do it. And at first he seriously considered killing her, because he thought of how his mother had died, and all of the oppression they had been through at her father's hand, but then than impressive stone cold mask flickered out and she looked up ceiling with the faintest sob, and he did not see her as a Sanan anymore. She was just a girl.

She was someone's daughter. She was someone's little sister. When he took Kuan and Ryu Kou out of the picture, he could see that clearly. And his sister's words echoed in his head, _Promise me you'll think twice before casually killing someone._

She was no threat to him. This really would be a casual murder.

"Damn it!" he exclaimed aloud, then he stepped back, "Go."

"What?"

"You heard me." Volechek ordered, "Stand down—" There was no one to order around, he quickly realized.

"They left." she said softly.

"But, _everyone_?" His voice echoed in an answer.

"Yes." She replied, "Everyone. My brother and my father's men first. Yours after them. If my death can buy them some time, so be it."

"Oh, come on, they didn't leave you for dead, they just—" he sighed. Yes. That was exactly what they had done, "Rise. I'm not going to kill you."

She had the most annoying habit of refusing to meet his eyes, and not doing what he told her, either.

"We don't have much time." He explained, "If we hurry, we could be able to catch him before he leaves the city."

He barely heard her, "Thank you."

She stopped shaking uncontrollably and took his outstretched hand. He pulled her to her feet and guided her down to the anteroom. He did not mean to be rude by it, but she _ran_ strangely. It was as if her feet were deformed, or her leg was injured. She was lagging behind him, gripping the banister and leaning on it, as if her own legs could not support her weight. Then again, perhaps it that was a fairly normal reaction for learning you _were not_ going to be killed after all. Weak knees.

She followed him down many stairs and many hallways, he glanced back once or twice, but she kept pace with him, even though she seemed to grimace in pain just a little with every step, and she was horribly unsteady on her feet. He wanted to stop and figure out just what her problem was, but there was no time. Besides, he knew very little about humans. Perhaps they just walked strangely.

They heard the rattle of the drawbridge going up before they were in the foyer. He saw a small host of Sanan solider on the other side, and a few turned around and looked straight at her. Unfortunately, she was on this side.

And she had just _tripped_. Her face was hidden, and she was breathing heavily though her teeth, like they were clenched in pain. He still did not exactly care about what was wrong. Honestly, a _human_ would know more about it, and they could worry about it when she had escaped. If she would ever _stand._

Of course, when Sveta came back he did_ not_ want her spread across the floor like a hunting trophy, still what he did next would baffle him for quite some time—and honestly her too. He picked her up, threw her over his shoulder, and started running at break-neck speed to the rising drawbridge.

It gained her first _real _reaction_, _"You can't _possibly_ make that!"

Volecheck did not answer. He just kept running. He had done this once before. Of course, he was a bit _bigger_ now and the girl in question was a bit heavier. Also, he would have to _throw_ her, because now was no time for either one of them to be drifting away with the tide. The drawbridge was nearing vertical when he reached the top. Somehow, he managed to scramble smoothly to the other side with Hou Ju still thrown over his shoulder. He did not waste time aiming. He just jumped.

He was weightless for a moment, his tail held rigid and straight for balance. When the weight came back he shifted his hands so that he held her firmly about the waist, and he half pushed, half tossed her the rest of the way across the water. He knew she was going to make it to the other side, so he hissed, mainly to himself, "Catch her!"

"Look out!"

He looked down and saw that he was going to land and just miss the other side. Swearing loudly, he got ready to grip the stone instead of dive into the water. He managed to catch it, scraping and denting his armor severely and breaking a claw on the stone (which _hurt_) but nothing was severely damaged. She landed safely in a tangle of armor and arms. The entire party was looking down at him, stupidly.

"Go!" he shouted, "Go before I change my mind!"

It was odd and demeaning to shout orders while winded and clinging to a rocky ledge, but he shouted one more anyway, "Let them pass!"

* * *

Meh, short chapter was short, but honestly, last chapter was long, so it evens out.


End file.
